


Nothing Dearer

by chess_ka



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chess_ka/pseuds/chess_ka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter."</p><p>Douglas loves his daughter, and wants to be a good father. Things don't always work out that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Perfect Present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pudupudu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pudupudu/gifts).



Douglas stared at his flickering laptop screen, frowning at the Amazon website. Hannah was turning ten next week and he still had no idea what to get her. What sort of thing did little girls like, these days? Should he get her an album of one of those horrendous _boy bands_ that seemed to be playing every time he accidentally flipped through Radio One? JML, or something? Or was she still too young for boy bands? He really had no idea.

Last birthday he had bought her a Dora the Explorer DVD and a stuffed unicorn. Rachel had rolled her eyes at him, “She's not a _baby_ now, Douglas. Honestly, it's like you don't know your own daughter.”

“You won't let me,” he had wanted to say, but instead he had shrugged, made some witty comment about kids growing so quickly these days, and left far earlier than he had meant to. Hannah had been playing on a pink hand-held games console, looking utterly absorbed. Her parting hug had been half-hearted at best, and Douglas had tried to pretend that it didn't feel like a punch in the gut.

Maybe he should ask Martin what to get Hannah – he had a niece, perhaps he'd know. 

God, had he really got to the point where he was considering asking _Martin_ for help? He almost laughed and buried his face in his hands. No, he would work this out, find the _perfect_ present. It couldn't be that difficult, plenty of fathers managed to buy nice presents for their daughters. And he wasn't just any father, he was _Douglas Richardson_. 

He lay awake for a long while, ruminating over what he could buy for Hannah, going from the small (earrings? Were her ears pierced? Surely not) to the ridiculous (a pony? Girls liked ponies). Nothing came to him, however, and he fell into a fretful doze. 

He woke in the early hours of the morning on the wrong side of the bed. Not that there was a wrong side any more, but it still _felt_ wrong, this expanse of cold, empty mattress. He groaned and shifted over to the left side of the bed, carefully tugging the duvet up over the right side and putting the pillow back properly and smoothing it out. He didn't let himself consider how that action would look ( _lonely, sad old man, can't let go_ ), and turned on his side, facing the window, and closed his eyes resolutely.

The next morning his eyes were itching with tiredness. He glared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering briefly where the handsome, chiselled man had gone, and why he had been replaced with this jowly, grey-faced chap. He didn't much like him. It was no wonder Hannah barely spoke to him these days; she probably didn't even recognise him.

Showered, shaved and armed with coffee, he settled himself at the kitchen table and opened his laptop. Time to find the ideal present for Hannah. Now, what did Hannah like? Well, the last time he had been sure of this she had liked Dora the Explorer, ponies, and ballet. That had backfired on him last time, and he was not going to open himself up to more criticisms about what a terrible father he was. 

_Ah hah_. He was a genius. The perfect present! Now he just had to find it. 

**

It was a five hour drive to Barrow-in-Furness and he set out early, wanting to spend as much time as he could with Hannah. Her party was the next day, but today? Today was for him. He'd take her out to lunch, let her pick a film at the cinema, and he was absolutely sure that she'd love her present. He sang along to Tosca as he drove. 

In the carpark of the M6 services, he bought some horrible mass-produced coffee and went for a walk to stretch his legs. In his pocket, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Douglas, it's Rachel.”

“Ah, hello. I'm near Bolton so I'll be a couple of hours-” He broke off when he heard Hannah's voice echoing down the phone. She was clearly standing by her mum.

“Have you told him?”

“I'm telling him now, Han.”

“Told me what?” Douglas asked, a sudden weight in the pit of his stomach. “Told me _what_ , Rachel?”

“Look, Douglas, I know this is a pain, but Han's been invited out by a friend. They've got last minute tickets to a JLS gig in Manchester and they want to make a day of it. She's desperate to go, so...” she trailed off delicately.

“Oh.” He couldn't formulate much more of a response than that. The weight in his stomach grew, twisted, creeping up to his chest where it _squeezed_. “But I'm almost there. I want to see her – it's her birthday.”

“I know, Douglas, I do. But she loves this band, and we missed out on getting tickets. You can always come up another weekend-”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” He didn't understand. How had they reached this point? Why did his daughter want to see a band more than she wanted to see him? Once upon a time she had waited impatiently on the bottom stair waiting for him to return, to fling herself into his arms. 

“Thanks, Douglas. Look, I'll call you tomorrow, we can sort out another day, okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” _No._ It wasn't fine! How could this be fine?

“All right. Talk to you soon. Bye!”

“Bye.” 

He hung up numbly, walked back to the car in a daze. He sat for a long while taking deep breaths, willing his eyes to stop stinging. In the bag beside him sat a beautiful musical jewellery box. A delicate, silver ballerina would twirl when it was opened, soft music playing to her pirouettes. He had thought it would be the perfect present. Clearly he had been mistaken – again.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed back his shoulders, turned the key in the ignition, and set off on the long journey back to his empty house.


	2. The Other Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being replaced hurts.

Staring out at the horizon, Douglas became aware that Martin was talking. He really wished that he wouldn't.

“Douglas?”

“Hm?”

“Are you all right? You've not listened to a thing I've just said, and there were about three comments that I should have been mocked for.”

“Ah. Apologies, Martin, would you be so kind as to give them to me again?”

“Absolutely not, I can't believe I got away with them. But are you sure you're okay? You don't seem very... Douglas-y.”

“Being as I am Douglas, I would suggest that I exist in a constant state of Douglasiness. And I'm fine.”

Martin frowned. “Is it something to do with Helena?”

Douglas mentally flinched, and was briefly glad that he was able to control his physical reaction. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Martin shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat and refocusing his gaze on the horizon. Douglas watched him for a moment: he had no idea how, but Martin had managed to weasel his way into Douglas' life to the extent that he actually shared more of his secrets with the awkward captain than he ever had with any of his wives. And Martin had reciprocated, trusting Douglas with his own private weaknesses and insecurities, proving himself trustworthy. He sighed.

“It was Hannah's birthday last weekend.”

“Oh, right. How old was she?”

“Ten.”

“O-kay.” Martin clearly couldn't see where this was going.

“I bought her a musical jewellery box. One of those old-fashioned ones with a ballerina inside. She likes ballet, or she did. I used to take her to ballet classes when she was younger.”

“Did she like it?”

He gritted his teeth, set his jaw. “I didn't get to give it to her. I'd organised with Rachel that I'd spend the day with Hannah, take her out, go to the pictures, that kind of thing. Three hours into my five hour drive I get a phonecall – Hannah wants to go to a bloody _concert_ with one of her friends so there's no point in me going.” He took deep breaths as he trailed off, his hands white-knuckled on GERTI's steering column.

“Oh,” Martin murmured. “Douglas, I- that's awful. I'm sorry.”

My own daughter, Martin. I've never been a perfect father but I have tried, I've done the best I can, but I've never been able to see her as much as I like since Rachel decided to move to Barrow-in-bloody-Furness. She gives me grief for not seeing Hannah enough, for not paying enough attention, and then she does this.”

Martin was silent for a moment, clearly trying to work out what to say. Nothing he could say would help, and he couldn't understand: Martin didn't have children. Martin had never been married. Hell, Martin probably hadn't had a long-term relationship. He couldn't even begin to imagine what this felt like.

“I'm really sorry, Douglas. I can't imagine it.”

“No, you can't,” he snapped, then regretted it as Martin recoiled slightly. “I'm going to see her this weekend, but it's not the same.”

Martin nodded cautiously. “Well, I hope it goes well.”

“Thank you.”

**

“I thought we could see that pirate film,” Douglas said, smiling down at Hannah as she strapped herself into the passenger seat.

“D- Mike took me to see it the other day.”

Mike. Rachel's new husband. Even his name set Douglas' teeth on edge: Mike. Couldn't he even have the decency to be called Michael? 

“Did he, now?”

“Yeah, it was great. And then we went for pizza and put everything on it and he bought us icecreams.”

Douglas tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “That was nice of him. So, is there anything on at the cinema you would like to see? Or we could go to the animal park, or...” 

Hannah considered for a moment, playing with a pink bracelet around one slender wrist. “Yes, all right.”

Relieved, Douglas entered details for the South Lakes Animal Park into his GPS. He talked to Hannah about school, glad that she at least appeared to be doing well. She was an intelligent girl. He resolutely ignored the mention of Michael helping her with her homework, and instead asked lots of questions about her role as Dorothy in the school production of The Wizard of Oz.

The Animal Park seemed like a tremendous idea: Hannah loved animals, and she towed Douglas around the park to look at lions, rhinos, kangaroos, penguins, tapirs... he rather lost count. She squealed and giggled as she hand-fed a giraffe, its long tongue curling around her tiny hand. The genuine smile on her face when he took a photograph of the moment lessened some of the tightness in his chest. She expressed remorse over the lack of polar bears, and Douglas told her about the time he'd flown to the Arctic to see them (slightly embellishing the tale, of course), and her eyes were wide with amazement.

In fact, the only downside to the day was that their conversation was punctuated by Hannah's frequent enthusiastic remarks about Mike. Of course, Douglas knew he should be happy that Hannah was happy, that she liked her new family unit, but instead he was just angry that this other man was in his daughter's life, doing his job. 

“Mike said that giraffes can clean their own ears with their tongue!”

“Mike said he's going to take us to Disneyworld next year!”

“Mike's going to get me a dog when I go to secondary school.”

Mike said this, Mike thinks that... Douglas wished he could block out every mention of Mike that was blighting his lovely day.

They left the park as it shut, Hannah clutching a stuffed giraffe and yawning with tiredness. She even nodded off on the twenty minute drive back to her mum's house.

“D'you want to come in for a drink, Douglas?” Mike asked when he answered the door.

Douglas shook his head. He'd quite like to punch the smug bastard in the face, but he hadn't technically done anything wrong. “No, I'd best be off. Long drive, you know.”

Mike nodded. “All right then. C'mon then, Han, in you come.”

Hannah gave Douglas a quick hug. “Thanks,” she said. 

“You're very welcome, darling.”

He was smiling as the door shut, right up until he heard Hannah's voice ring through from the other side as she spoke to Mike: “Dad, Dad! Guess what? I fed a giraffe!”


	3. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not only Douglas that can make plans that will make everything okay.

“How was your weekend?” Martin asked, his voice genuinely interested.

“Hm? Oh, it was fine. Lovely.”

“Did Hannah like her present?”

“She seemed to.”

“Oh, good! That's good.” Martin was always so sincerely _pleased_ about these things. “I'm glad things are better. You must be relieved.”

“Mm. Yes. Quite.”

Douglas resolutely did not look at Martin, but he could still clearly picture the younger man's concerned, puzzled frown, could see the question forming on his lips. He was thankfully saved from the impending conversation by the loud entrance of Arthur. 

Martin, however, was nothing if not tenacious. He had guessed that something was wrong, and he wasn't going to let Douglas get away with not talking about it. Douglas would have resented it, but he knew that he would do exactly the same if their positions were reversed. Although obviously he would do so far more skilfully.

In the bar of a Pisa motel that night, Douglas finally caved and told Martin about what Hannah had said to Mike. He kept his voice light, his eyes averted, not wanting to let on the depths to which it had hurt him. He had forgotten, however, that Martin was oddly perceptive of people's emotions, so his efforts were all for naught.

“Douglas, I'm so sorry. That's awful.”

“Well, it's understandable, I suppose. She barely sees me, but she lives with him. He does all the _dad_ stuff.”

“That doesn't make it right. _You're_ her dad.”

Douglas grunted. “It seems that _Mike_ is the sort of person who helps with homework, who takes her to the cinema, who imparts world truths on her... it doesn't leave much space for me.”

Martin bit his lip, fidgeting slightly with his glass. “I didn't get on with my dad,” he said finally. “We never saw eye-to-eye on... well, on anything. But he was still my dad, and I still loved him. I realised when I was older how much he did for us. It's not very helpful now but... Hannah will come round, when she's older. Probably. I mean, she's only ten. Ten year olds are easily swayed by cinema tickets and icecream.”

Sometimes, Douglas reflected, Martin wasn't as daft as he appeared. “Possibly. I'd prefer not to wait for years, though.”

“No. Of course. I know it doesn't really help. Maybe you should... do something for her. Something that Mike couldn't do.”

“I think Hannah has already decided that Mike is the best thing to happen to the world since _Justin Bieber._ ”

“Who?”

“I really don't know.”

The two men sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, until Douglas heaved a sigh. “I think I'll go to bed,” he muttered. “See you in the morning, Icarus.”

Martin rolled his eyes at the nickname, but raised his glass in farewell. Douglas left the captain to it and traipsed up to the tiny, cramped room. He changed into pyjamas, brushed his teeth, glared sullenly at his reflection for a few moments, then climbed into the tiny bed. 

The mattress was hard, the pillow thin, and a branch was knocking distractedly against the window. Douglas could not get comfortable, no matter what position he lay in, and he spent over an hour twisting this way and that, trying and failing to drop off. Eventually he simply lay staring at the stained ceiling, reflecting miserably on how very _wrong_ things seemed to be. How on earth had he ended up like this? He was the most intelligent, resourceful person he knew, but somehow his life had spiralled rather out of control and he was losing the most important thing in it. 

**

The next morning, he was in a bad temper. He knew he was being irrational, knew that he was being angry for the wrong reasons, but that didn't stop him. It wasn't Carolyn's fault that the airfield had a runway closure. It wasn't Martin's fault that that same airfield forgot to put their flight plan in the system. But he still snarled and snapped at them, making Carolyn furious and Martin peevishly defensive. Overall, it was _not_ a pleasant flight, and Douglas was looking forward to getting home and having some proper sleep.

Except he _wasn't_ looking forward to getting home. Not really. Home was an empty house with too much space and not enough noise. Home was trying to fill his hours so he wouldn't realise how lonely he was. This knowledge did nothing to help his bad mood. 

The next day, Douglas arrived at the airfield late, as usual. They were on standby, so he felt no need to haul himself out of bed to arrive in time for a day of sitting around. His bad mood had dissipated somewhat, and he hoped that Martin had stopped sulking with him. 

“Morning, Douglas!” Arthur beamed as he entered the portacabin. “I've just boiled the kettle! D'you want tea?”

“Yes, thank you, Arthur.”

“No problem! Mum and Skip were just telling me about our next flight! It sounds really exciting!”

“Does it now?” Douglas drawled, dropping onto the moth-eaten sofa and pulling out his morning's newspaper. “And where, pray tell, are we going?”

“Well, I don't really know. You must know, though.”

“Why would I know? I've only just arrived.”

“But you must! We're flying your daughter, after all!”

Douglas lowered the paper to stare at Arthur's open, beaming face. “My daughter?”

“Yeah! Skipper said we were flying her and her friends somewhere, for a treat! He was talking to Mum about it for _ages_ yesterday!”

Douglas blinked. Martin had been talking to Carolyn about Hannah? They were flying Hannah somewhere? What on earth was going on? Obviously this called for some investigation. He dropped his newspaper onto the sofa and pushed himself to his feet, heading for the cupboard Carolyn called her office, flinging open the door unceremoniously.

Carolyn and Martin glanced up at his entrance. They were hunched over Carolyn's rickety desk, papers laid out in front of them. Carolyn looked stern. “You,” she intoned briskly. “Are _late_.”

“I am also, apparently, the last to know about a magical mystery tour my daughter is going on.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “I told you Arthur would tell him,” Carolyn said to Martin, who shrugged. 

“So would you please tell me what is going on?”

“It was my idea,” Martin said, his tone already defensive. “After what you were saying, I thought... well, what can you do that this Mike chap can't? You can fly a plane. So I thought that you... could fly Hannah somewhere. As a treat. So I asked Carolyn.”

For a wild moment Douglas wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell Martin that he had no right to give Carolyn this information, that he shouldn't be prying and interfering in Douglas' life. But the younger man's face was earnest, and he was genuinely trying to help. Douglas sighed. 

“I am being remarkably generous,” Carolyn commented. “You can take GERTI, you can go on a trip _for one day_. And you will owe me every single favour I call in for the next month. Understood?”

Douglas raised one eyebrow. “Understood,” he said. 

“Excellent. Now, you need to sort out where you are going and when. Get cracking, it needs to go on the wall chart. Now, both of you, leave this place. I need to not look at you for a while.”

Back in the main room, Arthur handed Douglas his tea and began babbling excitedly about all the places they could take Hannah. Most of his suggestions stemmed more from the name of the country rather than any understanding of what the place was like, but Douglas had no desire to stop the flow of enthusiasm. 

He did, however, give Martin a small smile, squeezing his shoulder in silent thanks as he stepped outside to call Rachel.


	4. The Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incapable of having a sad ending for anything...

The Day did not look promising. Douglas woke to grey skies and drizzle, with the weather forecast giving ominous promises of storms and weather warnings. He turned the radio off, not wanting to listen. 

He had wanted Hannah to come and stay the evening before, but Rachel had refused to drive her down after a full day of work and school. Douglas was disappointed, but it was a fair enough point, so he had held his tongue and agreed to Rachel driving Hannah and her friends to the airfield that morning.

He felt inexplicably nervous. He made tea, with more sugar than usual, and took his time drinking it in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. He could not fathom why he was nervous: it was an easy trip, and the passengers were excited, easily-awed ten year olds. Nothing to worry about.

The airfield was quiet when he pulled up. He was actually on time for once, but already outside the portacabin were Carolyn's BMW, Arthur's Corsa and Martin's battered old van. 

There was no sign of Arthur or Carolyn in the portacabin, but Martin was there filling in the flight plan, a mug of black coffee in front of him. There was something different about his appearance, and Douglas couldn't quite put his finger on it.

“Morning, Martin,” he said, still trying to work out what had changed. 

“Morning,” Martin muttered absently, not looking up from his form. “The weather's much better in France, and it should hold for us.” He ran a hand through his curls, which were not being ruthlessly clamped down by his hat. Douglas suddenly realised what was different.

“Martin- your epaulettes. You appear to have... misplaced one.”

“Oh. Yes. Er – no, no I've not.”

Douglas frowned, sitting down opposite him at the rickety table. “Martin, you have only _three_ epaulettes. Are you ill?”

“No,” said Martin slowly, putting down his pen. “No, I'm, er, I'm fine. I just thought that... um... well, I thought that Hannah might be more impressed if her dad was the captain.”

Douglas stared. Martin's expression was uncertain. “You-”

“So, for this trip and this trip only, I'll point out, I am First Officer Martin Crieff.”

“Martin – are you dying?”

“What? No! For God's sake, I'm just trying to be _nice_!” His expression changed from wary to defiant, clearly thinking he was being made fun of. Douglas felt a sudden surge of affection for this ridiculous man who had somehow wormed his way into being Douglas' friend. 

“It's... thank you, Martin.”

**

“Ta da!” Arthur stood in the middle of GERTI's aisle with his arms outstretched, a broad grin on his face. “Isn't it brilliant?”

GERTI had been decked out with multi-coloured streamers and balloons. There were silly hats on the seats, and one was currently adorning Arthur's head. Across the entrance to the galley was a huge, handmade banner proclaiming “DISNEYLAND IS BRILLIANT”. The whole effect was quite concerning considering it was the interior of an aeroplane. Douglas was rather looking forward to seeing Martin's pained reaction.

“It's... something else, Arthur, it really is.”

“D'you think Hannah will like it?” Arthur looked earnest. “There's cakes and biscuits and things too!”

A cold feeling crept into Douglas' stomach. “Please tell me _you_ didn't make them.”

“Oh, no. I wanted to, but Mum wouldn't let me.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Douglas shook his head. Arthur was looking a little wilted. “This is wonderful, Arthur. Thank you for... making such an effort.”

The beaming smile was back in place immediately. “No problem, Douglas! I'm really excited about this trip – it'll be great!” 

“I'm sure it will be,” Douglas agreed, surprised by the extent to which he believed it.

**

“And this,” came Arthur's overly enthusiastic voice from outside, “is GERTI!”

“Wow, its _massive_ ,” said one over-awed voice.

“I went on a bigger one when we went to Spain last year,” said another voice dismissively.

“Yeah, but this is cooler. They took loads of people to Spain – this one's just taking _us_. It's well good!”

“Course it is,” came Hannah's voice. “'s my dad's plane, isn't it?”

Douglas grinned. Beside him, in the co-pilot's seat, Martin smirked. “She shares your belief in the terrificness of you, then?”

“She's a sensible girl.”

The children's voices grew louder as they climbed onto the plane, followed by exclamations of delight at the interior. Arthur was even louder than they were, happily sorting out who would sit where and telling them how to get strapped in. Martin gave Douglas a nudge. “Want to go and greet them, Captain Richardson? I'll get the checks done.”

Douglas could get used to this reasonable version of Martin, even if it was rather unnerving. “Yes, I'd best go and stop Arthur before he gets himself completely over-excited. He'll be bad enough at Disneyland without getting him hyped up on sugar and ten-year olds.”

Martin grinned. “You're not the one who's going to be Arthur-sitting at Disneyland.”

Douglas shrugged. “It was your idea, so you have to suffer the consequences.” He picked up the captain's hat, noting that the gold braiding really _wasn't_ as ridiculous as he usually imagined, and put it on his head as he exited the flight deck. 

As he emerged into the cabin, the faces of four ten-year-old girls turned to him. Three of them looked rather awed and impressed. The fourth, Hannah, beamed and waved enthusiastically at him. “Hi, Dad!” she cried. 

Douglas grinned and tipped his hat to her. “Hello, love,” he rumbled, before pulling himself to his full height and gazing at the other young girls. “Welcome aboard, ladies. I am Captain Richardson, and I am very pleased to be your pilot on this flight to Paris. Please make sure you are strapped in for take off, and our steward will be _extremely_ happy to provide you with food and drink once we are in the air. Thank you.” 

The girls all immediately checked their seatbelts, bright expectation on their faces. Douglas bent to talk to Hannah, who was sat near the front. “Want to come to the front for take off?” he murmured.

Her face lit up. “Yeah!” She scrambled for her seatbelt, leaping from her seat and following Douglas eagerly back to the flight deck.

Martin raised an eyebrow at Hannah's appearance but didn't complain. Instead he turned to give her a crooked smile. “Hi, Hannah. I'm Martin.”

“Are you the co-pilot?” Hannah asked, immediately going to look over his shoulder.

“Yep. Though we call it the first officer, not the co-pilot.”

“Oh, right. So you're like the first mate on a pirate ship?”

“Arr, tha's right, matey,” said Martin in a ridiculous pirate accent. Hannah giggled. Douglas sat down in the captain's seat, trying not to be too amazed that Martin wasn't doing terribly at talking to Hannah.

“What do all these things do, Dad?” Hannah asked, crossing to him. 

“Oh, all sorts of things,” said Douglas. “Tell you what, let us get in the air and I'll explain them. D'you want to use the radio, get us permission to go?”

“Really?” Hannah was wide-eyed, beaming from ear-to-ear.

“Of course. Here-” he picked up the radio and handed it to her. “Okay, you press this button here, and repeat after me, all right?” She nodded eagerly. “ _Tower, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, are we clear for take-off?_ ”

“Tower, this is Golf Echo – er – Romeo?” she looked at Douglas for confirmation and he nodded, mouthing the next word to her. “Tango... um... India?” Again, she looked at Douglas. He nodded, smiling at her. “Are we clear for take-off?”

The radio crackled back to life. “Golf Tango India, you are cleared for take-off. Have a good trip, Miss Richardson.”

Hannah giggled. “Thanks!”

“Best go get yourself strapped in, Hannah,” said Martin as the plane began to move. 

“Ohhhh!”

“Sorry love, but it's best if you get strapped in. You can come back in when we're in the air, yeah?”

“'kay.” Hannah went back to the flight deck door, then hesitated. She retraced her steps quickly and pressed a kiss to Douglas' cheek. “This is a _brilliant_ present, Dad. Thanks!”

Douglas wrapped one arm around her, dropping a kiss into her soft hair. “You are very welcome, darling.”

When Hannah re-entered the flight deck, Douglas heard one of her friends call out. “Han, this is _so cool_!”

“Yep,” Hannah replied confidently. “My dad's the best.”

Douglas grinned to himself. 

“Mission accomplished?” Martin enquired as GERTI began to lift.

Douglas settled back in his seat, hands on the controls. “Oh yes,” he said contentedly. “Mission has been _very much_ accomplished.”


End file.
